


Soft Revolution

by Renne



Category: Captain America (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fake Boyfriends AU, M/M, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 08:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renne/pseuds/Renne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Bucky's sent to Russia with his sister after his grandma dies, and he does everything he can to earn enough money to get them out of the country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft Revolution

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the [fake boyfriends universe](http://peterquills.tumblr.com/post/82519367127).

("You call me father," the man barks in his broken English,  _"You call me father."_    
  
Bucky takes the hit, the man's fist right up under his ribs. It's worth it though, he thinks around the pain as he doubles over, because if the man is hitting him then he's leaving Rebecca alone and that's all that matters.)  
  
  
Bucky hunches his shoulders against the chill, hands tucked in his pockets as he hurries through the streets. The night breeze is like knives though his threadbare jacket as he slips down a narrow alleyway, fumbling for the cigarettes in his pocket. His hands shake as he lights one and he coughs when he takes a drag; rough and hacking and painful between the bruises and the bronchitis he can't seem to shake.  
  
He has to brace himself against the wall, spitting into the slush to clear his mouth. At the end of the alleyway there's a rusted iron door, and Bucky knocks sharply, dropping his half-smoked cigarette to the ground. He tucks his hands up under his armpits, shivering.   
  
The door creaks open with a gust of warm, damp air. "Ah, Yasha," an old man says, just a shadow moving in the dark, "come in, come in, you will freeze out there."   
  
Slipping through the crack of the door, Bucky pulls it shut with a muffled boom behind him. The old man, Pyotr, flicks a switch and the dim hallway is lit by irregularly spaced bare, hanging bulbs. Bucky struggles with the knot in his scarf, his fingers too frozen to grip the material properly.  
  
"Let me," Pyotr says. He has a weathered face, but his eyes are bright blue, peering out from the heavy lines. "You are still sick?" He knows very little English and speaks his Russian slowly and carefully so Bucky can understand.   
  
Bucky shrugs half-heartedly. It's the same question every time with the same answer.   
  
Pyotr presses the scarf into Bucky's hands and clicks his tongue. "You should not fight tonight. You should take a night off."  
  
"I need the money. You know I need the money." Bucky coughs again, softly. He pushes open the door at the end of the hallway, missing the concerned look the old man shoots him. The room through the door is warm and Bucky shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it and the scarf over the arm of the ratty sofa.   
  
He can feel the weight of infection in his lungs, slowing him, stealing his breath, but he has to keep fighting. With so many paying for the chance to thrash the insolent Yankee child, Bucky knows he can earn enough to get himself and Rebecca home as long as he doesn't lose. If he loses they're screwed.  
  
He's stopped by a hand on his arm. "I will give you the money you need. For you and for the child."  
  
It's Pyotr who has been family to Bucky since he and his sister were shipped off to Russia, unlike his aunt and his uncle. It's this man, who shares none of his blood, patches him up after the fights and who Bucky trusts to keep his earnings safe. "No, Petya, I cannot," Bucky says, shaking his head. "I could never repay you--"  
  
Pyotr firms his grip, tugs Bucky to the sofa and pushes him to sit. As he seats himself next to Bucky he says something too rapidly for Bucky to understand; Bucky's Russian is improving, but he still struggles when Pyotr speaks too quickly. Bucky spreads his hands helplessly. "I don't understand," he says.   
  
"I said, I do not ask for repayment, Yasha. You need to protect your sister, and you need to take her home. To your real home." Bucky's shocked to see tears in the old man's eyes. "This is not your life. You need to go back to America. Finish your learning. Be a child yourself. I will give you the money you need."  
  
He's barely scraping sixteen, but it's hard for Bucky to remember he was ever a child. Eighteen months ago he and Rebecca had stood shivering on a platform of a Saratov train station, waiting for relatives they'd never met. Three days later, Bucky received his first beating (their passports stayed hidden in the stuffing of the only bear Rebecca was allowed to keep).   
  
But Pyotr's gentle words remind him and Bucky has to close his eyes against the well of emotion. It's not the typical American things he misses, it's the personal things. He misses his grandma, he misses his Dad. Gone for good, both of them.  
  
And god, he misses his best friend.   
  
Steve, who'd be shocked to see Bucky this sick, because Bucky  _never_  got sick. (Because they both knew that Steve was the one who got sick and Bucky was the one who looked after him when Steve's mother was at work.)   
  
Steve, who Bucky had never had a chance to say goodbye to before he and Rebecca had been packed off overseas, who Bucky hadn't left even a message for when the answering machine had picked up, unable to put into words what was happening and how scared he was to leave.  
  
Steve, who Bucky missed more than anything, and who he couldn't think of without a twist in his chest over everything he never said because they were just dumb kids and besides, Bucky was never meant to feel like he did anyway.  
  
But he can't think about that. About Steve. About going home and seeing Steve again, because it's still just a dream; until he steps foot on American soil again it'll only be a dream.  
  
"Why do you care?" Bucky eventually asks Pyotr, his voice breaking. "We are nothing to you. Why give your money away to--" he casts for the right word, but his Russian fails him. "Strangers," he finishes in English.  
  
"I am an old man with no family, Yasha. These past six months you have been like my own blood." Pyotr's eyes cloud over a moment; Pyotr's grandchildren died in the same accident that killed his only daughter and Bucky's sad for this old man who has tried to fill those unfillable gaps with the broken foreign child he'd found. "The fighting. You know I do not approve, but... you do it for the right reasons. And I want to help you go home." Pyotr takes Bucky's hands in his. "Please. Think on my offer. When you are ready, let me know. I will help you and the child leave."  
  
  
The man is waiting on the stoop when Bucky returns home. "I tell you, you no go out," he snarls and drags Bucky inside. His fingers dig into Bucky's bicep as he shoves Bucky forward and Bucky stumbles, falling to his knees on the floor. He's barely able to avoid the kick aimed at him.   
  
Bucky's coughing when he comes back to his feet and he doesn't think twice before he's on the man. Before this he'd take a beating because if didn't the man might hurt his sister.  
  
But Bucky's made his decision. It doesn't matter anymore.  
  
  
(Rebecca clings to Bucky's waist as they wait. She's scared and he hates that, hates that it's his own fault. She'd been woken by the sound of the fight, by the man's yelling as Bucky taught him to never hit a Barnes again, scared when Bucky had yanked her bedroom door open and began throwing her meagre belongings into the little case she'd had when she came to this country.  
  
The door opens. Pyotr's eyes widen in surprise. "Yasha, why are you--?"   
  
Pyotr sees the fresh blood and bruising on Bucky's face, but his scold over Bucky promising not to fight is cut off by understanding when he sees Rebecca peering around Bucky's elbow. He ushers them both inside and Rebecca shies away from the old man.  
  
Bucky crouches down and pulls her into his arms. "It's okay, babygirl. This is Pyotr. He only speaks Russian, but he's our friend," he says gently.   
  
He glances up over her head at Pyotr. "Dedushka," he says, "please, we are ready for your help.")


End file.
